My Beautiful Trauma
This is the story of how my daughter entered the world in 2021.
I wrote most of these words within days of her birth, but it has taken three years for me to look at them again.
*Trigger warning: birth trauma*
Three days before my daughter’s due date, I went to the hospital to begin the induction process. I had been on medication for high blood pressure for a few weeks and she was expected to be a big baby. I had also been for monitoring a handful of times because of reduced movements, so I was strongly advised to go ahead with an induction.
I used to write in a diary most nights. I recorded things I had done that day as a way to capture memories. These are the words I wrote in my diary during that time (with a few tweaks for clarity)….
Tuesday Evening
It’s induction day! I’m lying in a dark maternity ward corner with my fairy lights wound around the foot of the bed, cuddled up to the quilt Mum & Rosie made for the baby and my fluffy cushion, listening to Diana Krall sing Just The Way You Are through my headphones.
Now it’s Underneath The Stars by Kate Rusby. I was booked for my induction at 1pm this afternoon but they were busy so I had to wait. Then baby wasn’t playing ball on the monitor so we had to wait until they were happy with her heart rate.
They gave me my first pessary around 9pm and now we wait. They will come and assess me again at 2am and give me another pessary if labour hasn’t started yet.
Grant spent the day at work and came up to meet me here afterwards. I instantly relaxed when he arrived and he’s had me laughing my head off all evening.
When the midwife inserted the pessary near the baby’s head in my cervix, I went onto the monitor afterwards, and the baby was very still and quiet. Grant said “she’s had a bit of a shock and is probably doing this” and did a wide eyed impression of baby after the midwifes hand was up there.
I almost laughed her out there and then, and I’ve chuckled several times since at the memory of his funny face. Funnily enough every time I laughed, she woke up and had a wriggle, so it was ideal.
Originally, they were going to try the balloon method, not the pessary. While they were preparing it and talking about it, Grant was making jokes about inflating tyres and getting the right PSI. He was just what I needed tonight.
Before he arrived, I had been feeling wobbly about the longer-than-expected wait to get things started, anxious in general about the induction, and worried about leaving Eli for too long. Grant made it clear that everything at home was in hand and he’d make sure all was ok. I feel much better now. He’s gone home for the evening but has promised to put his phone on loud in case things get going overnight.
Mum picked Eli up and drove him to preschool for me this morning, then she came back to help me pack and drive me to hospital for 1pm.
It was really lovely. We made coffees and sat on my bed chatting for a while. I unpacked and repacked my bag in front of her, and we went gaga over the teeny tiny cloth nappies. So cute! We finished packing Eli’s overnight bag (he’s staying with her) and then sat downstairs for a bit.
She drove me to Sainsbury’s to pick up some lunch and snacks before she dropped me at the hospital doors with my suitcase. We had a lovely hug and she promised to take care of my baby boy.
Since writing this, I’ve started to feel a bit of pressure, so that’s good, I guess! Time to relax now and let things happen.
Thursday Morning
Still in hospital. Still no baby or even any signs that labour might start.
I had my fourth pessary this morning after an examination showed that last night’s had zero effect and my waters still couldn’t be broken.
I barely slept on Tuesday evening. I was excited about things getting started, and I was in a bay with other beds in the room, which didn’t feel very private. Even though I was alone, I couldn’t relax enough to sleep.
I also knew my next pessary was due at 2am (it was actually 3am because I couldn't do the maths) so I was up with a coffee and a snack, ready to go on the monitor by 2am. They had an emergency in the night and didn’t get to me until 5.30am. I should have just tried to sleep.
There was no change, so I had my second pessary at 6am. I was on the monitor for four hours with a ten-minute break to grab some breakfast. Baby girl wasn’t playing the game and kept sleeping, so they couldn’t properly track her activity and heart rate.
I finally got in the shower around 10am and put on some clean clothes. They came to check me again around 12pm in the hope they could break my waters. I was having some contractions by this point, and it felt like early labour, so I was 99% sure the baby was on her way.
Nope. No changes in the cervix and my waters still couldn’t be broken. I kept contracting for a while after that, and it was becoming painful, so I was still hopeful things were moving along. Contractions were ramping up and becoming more regular during the afternoon.
Then they admitted another pregnant lady into the shared room and she and her friend were chatting away casually to each other while I tried to hide and stay quiet behind my curtain. Because of that, it all calmed down. No more contractions. Nothing.
I silently sobbed for more than half an hour, stifling my sniffles with my hand across my nose and mouth so the other people in the room didn’t notice and feel awkward. When they left the room momentarily, I cried myself into such a state that I couldn’t calm myself down or catch my breath. I ended up hitting the nurse button.
Michaela, a midwife, answered the call and immediately put me at ease. She listened to me, validated my concerns and reassured me things would get better. She suggested I get some rest, so I made a den of cushions to curl up in where I snoozed for just under an hour.
During this time, Grant was still at work. We agreed he would only leave if I was in labour because the induction process can take a while, and he wouldn’t get paid paternity leave until the day the baby arrived. There are friends who would have been there with me if I asked, but I didn’t want to feel I had to entertain or host anyone. I only truly relax alone.
They can’t give you more than two pessaries in 24 hours, so I had to wait until 9pm. last night (Wednesday) for the next one. Grant arrived after work and immediately cheered me up with his presence and jokes. After all the sobbing, they moved me to a private room.
The third pessary was administered, Grant went home, and I actually slept for most of the night. I woke up several times but went back to sleep easily.
Everything feels a bit brighter this morning, even though there are still no changes and my waters still can’t be broken. She’s very comfy in there! It’s her due date tomorrow, so it's safe to say she probably would have been late without intervention.
I had a fourth pessary around 6.30am, so I’m crossing my fingers this is the one that will do it. They don’t give you more than four in total, so I don’t know what Plan B is! I’ll ask the consultants when they do their rounds this morning.
Meanwhile, Eli had a lovely sleepover at Mum and Dad's on Tuesday night, spent the day with them on Wednesday, and then had dinner with Grant’s parents last night. They are dropping him to my mum at 7.45am this morning for breakfast and my mum will drive him to preschool.
Mum sent me lots of happy pictures of him yesterday that cheered me up. I miss him a lot and this is the longest I’ve ever been apart from him — another one of the reasons for yesterday’s tears.
Sunday Evening
Beatrice was born at 3.41pm on Thursday weighing 9lb 8oz, and not in the way anyone expected.
I haven’t been able to write until now because I’ve been SO tired. I can barely even keep my eyes open now.
So from Thursday…
They checked me again at lunchtime, and I was finally 2cm dilated. They were easily able to break my waters. A midwife called Charlotte did it, with student midwife Abbey supporting. I was ecstatic, and they were ecstatic for me.
I phoned Grant and told him to leave work and come straight away. My lovely midwife friend, Rosie, popped her head round the door and said well done. The midwives collected all my things from the other room I’d been in and brought them to me.
By the time Grant arrived 20 minutes later, I was already on the gas and air, having regular and fairly full-on contractions. They decided not to give me the drip because things were ramping up quickly on their own.
The mood was one of excitement and relief. I felt ready.
After about an hour, however, I was asking for an epidural. Things had escalated a lot and fast, and I was struggling to cope with the intensity. Assuming it was early days and I probably still had a long way to go (my first labour took aaages), I didn’t think I could carry on at that level of pain.
I remained as relaxed as I could be, and I was breathing through the contractions well using my hypnobirthing techniques (thank you Zelle), but it went from 0–100 really fast. I was afraid of how much more painful it might get later on if it was this bad already.
Then Charlotte told me it was too late for an epidural and she thought my baby was about to be born. Oh, crumbs. I turned over to labour on my front and was mentally preparing myself for the final stage while going for it on the gas and air.
Then I noticed they were all suddenly hovering around the CTG machine. A male doctor had appeared in the room and was asking if maybe it was “picking up mum's heart rate.”
They must have called him in without me noticing. They stuck a clip on the baby’s head and confirmed that her heart rate had plummeted. Oh God. They told me I was going for an emergency caesarean.
Grant was standing somewhere by my side and later told me it felt like his heart stopped too, in that moment. It was terrifying.
I nodded to show I understood what they were saying because I couldn’t speak through the pain. If she was in trouble, I just wanted her delivered quickly and safely and out of danger. Plus, I wanted the pain to stop.
The next words I heard were general anaesthetic. Shit. Ok. Just get her out and make sure she’s ok. Hurry.
Next thing they were all over me, swarming me, undoing my bra, putting something over my head. People everywhere. Where was Grant? I had no clue.
Contractions were almost continuous now and absolutely crippling. I was wrenched away from the gas and air and sped down the hallway on the bed, leaving Grant behind somewhere.
I kept trying to focus on my breathing without the gas and air. The one thing I had any control over at that moment was my own breath, so that’s where I put my energy. The whole situation was terrifying, along with the most unbearable pain I have ever had to endure. I couldn’t move.
Suddenly I was in theatre. They asked me to shuffle over onto the bed next to me, but I couldn’t do it, so they had to lift me. They were sticking things to me and putting things over my face. I was contorting in agony, wanting them to hurry up and just knock me out.
Then there was Michaela, the midwife. The one who helped me calm down yesterday. I noticed she was suddenly holding my hand and leaning over me. She held my eyes with hers and told me to breathe deeply, the pain will stop soon, baby and me are in good hands, and everything will be ok.
She promised to look after both of us. I needed that so much in that moment. Finally, they put a mask over my face and told me to take deep breaths. I breathed deeper than I ever have before, and after a few breaths, I was out.
This may not have happened in the same way, order, or timescale as I remember it. These are my personal memories, and they’re a bit of a blur.
Hours later, they woke me up in a bright recovery room where I was surrounded by people. The first words I heard were Michaela’s. She told me “Baby is ok and you are ok, it went really well.”
Thank goodness. Instant relief.
Grant had been having skin-to-skin with our baby for almost two hours already while they were stitching me up and helping me recover. Michaela asked if I’d like to see my baby and I said yes, so they brought her to me and put her on my chest for a cuddle.
It didn’t feel like meeting her for the first time; it felt like a reunion. She belonged with me, and she was back. I felt whole again.
Someone showed me how to work the pain relief system. I had a button to get drugs on demand. Once I was fully awake and not in too much pain, they wheeled me through to Grant, who was waiting in our post-natal room.
To say he had a tough time of it is an understatement. He had been crying. He thought he might lose me and have to raise two children alone. They reassured him that we were both fine, but he was still a wreck. It must have been a scary thing to witness.
He walked over and gave me a kiss. He told me about his baby cuddles and what had happened since I was whisked away. The midwives asked us the baby’s name, and we had already decided on Beatrice if it suited her. I said she was definitely Beatrice, and Grant agreed.
They weighed her — 9lb8oz (4.3 kilos) — and did all her other checks. Then Grant got her dressed and gave her to me to feed.
The rest of the evening is a bit of a blur. I sent a few pictures to family and told a few friends she had arrived. Grant says I asked him the same questions several times over. I was groggy from the surgery and high on drugs.
Grant left around 10pm and I tried to get some sleep in between feeding Beatrice. Neither of us slept very well.
On Friday morning, Grant arrived with a chai latte (my favourite). I tried to go the whole day on just paracetamol and ibuprofen in the hope that if I proved I could manage without the hard stuff, I could get home to Eli sooner.
I do not recommend doing this.
The midwives helped me to stand and got me cleaned up, which was a traumatic experience in itself, and eventually, I was able to go to the toilet alone. The consultants came around in the afternoon and explained what happened, and we were able to ask questions.
Beatrice was hypoglycaemic— a common and expected side effect of the blood pressure medication I’m on, combined with the borderline cord gas results she had on delivery because of her struggle with labour.
Before every feed, we had to call for a midwife to come and take blood from her heel so they could see what her sugar levels were before the feed. They kept being too low, so we had to supplement with glucose syrup before the breastmilk and then formula top-ups after, which she had from a cup. Grant fed one of these to her.
Eventually, her readings were borderline and then they were very healthy. By the evening, we were given the all-clear to drop the formula top-ups and there were no more heel pricks. Hallelujah! Her poor little feet are covered in tiny marks.
Also by the evening, I realised I had overdone it during the day with too much moving about, so I asked for Oramorph again. Every time she fed, the afterpains in my tummy were agony.
Grant left for a few hours in the afternoon to go and buy me more high-waisted cotton knickers and collect Eli from my mum. This is when Grant told Eli that the baby was here!
Eli didn’t believe him and kept asking where I was. We did a video call so Eli got to see his baby sister for the very first time on Daddy’s phone while sitting in Granny’s living room. He was overjoyed and grinning from ear to ear! Apparently, there were some tears and tantrums afterwards, and he got quite upset that we couldn’t come home yet.
Friday night was tough. Night two with a newborn on my own in a hospital bed without stomach muscles while everything hurt was never going to be easy! She cluster-fed from around 9pm (when Grant left) until 2am.
I had to ring the midwife call bell and ask for her to be put down in her cot because I couldn’t do it smoothly without waking her, and I was afraid to fall asleep holding her. I finally got a few hours of sleep from 2am, and then they woke me up at 4.30am to do my observations. Thankfully, I slept a little bit more after Bea’s next feed.
A midwife made me peppermint tea and toast at 7am, and Grant rocked up with another chai latte and a roll from the Crusty Cob around 10.30am. We really wanted to go home today, and the midwife looking after us was straight on it.
She sent my drug card to the pharmacy and gave me instructions on what I needed to do before I could go. One of these things was to remove my dressing so the c-section wound could be checked over, and the best way to do this was by soaking it in the shower.
Grant was on board to help because I couldn’t see well enough to do it. I got in the shower and had a wash, then called him in. I stood there in the bathtub with the shower running while he tried to unpick the end of my dressing. He couldn’t do it, and I felt too faint to stand there much longer.
After a log of giggling and a little bit of panicking, we gave up and called the midwife to come and remove the dressing for me. Thankfully, it was all looking good and we were finally allowed to go home around 2pm.
Grant took our bags, collected Eli from Granny and Grandad, and then brought Eli up to meet us. It was perfect. Eli got to meet his baby sister in the hospital before anyone else, and he was so proud.
Why did I decide to share this story? A few reasons:
- It might help someone else who has had a similar experience to feel less alone
- I’ve been struggling with writer’s block, and this story needed to be told for me to move past it
- Midwives do not get enough credit for what they do, and I want to show my appreciation to everyone who cared for us
